Bell of the Ball - From the Greek Diner Series
by John Davis Collins.....© 1997 by John F. Clennan, All Rights Reserved
For Susan Kravitz
The author's foreword:
This was written as part of a competition between me and the late Susan
Kavitz, the Jane of the story.
Susan had been a writer in her youth whom fame and fortune eluded.
Fate brought her to the diner. The Belle operated flagrantly in a remote,
rural, congregationalist North Fork (LI) town ,,, and boasted of her many
exploits.
Jane (Susan Kavitz) had written 40-50 pages but as she put it "it's pure
porn." Belle was rather open about which parts of the Kama Sutra she
generally relied upon. I couldn't write a line.
As Jane and I spoke I realised wherein lay the real story.
When Susan Kavitz died, her co-workers trooped almost 70 miles to Ronkonkoma
just to read the collection of stories about life in a diner. Even the Belle shed some tears.
Susan's version(s) are still on her computor. The best of hackers can't
figure the codes she used to password access up.
Many of the Red Dragon Greek Diner sagas were carried in Rio Grande Press.
Rosalie Avara the editor was a Greek and liked all the characters. After Rio
Grande Press folded, Inditer has published not a few - - Belle however is
previously unpublished.
The Story
Call me Jane, Plain Jane. That's all I pretend to be. I've been a
professional waitress for twenty years. I've seen the young chickadees come
and go. They're at a way station in a road to fame and fortune, My place
is here.
Right now I work the night shift at the Yankee Imperium Diner in Prudence,
a small southern New England town, just too far north to pick up New York
City T.V.
These days, my co-waitress is Sherry, a tall woman about 30 whose long legs
and flat stomach don't betray two pregnancies. I hate her. Guys come to
the counter and slurp coffee just to make goo-goo eyes with Sherry. Even
the owner Bill, a broad shouldered immigrant with a neatly trimmed salt and
pepper beard, looks up when Sherry breezes by his seat in the corner booth.
Sherry's like the others. They're working on a dream. Some of the younger
ones are "really" actresses or models or writers waiting for the break.
Some Sherry's age are helping their husbands buy a house they can't afford.
Most move on; only a few become Professional Waitresses.
Bill had his dream too. He was a latter day pioneer and the diner was his
promised land.
Originally named the Yankee Imperium/Macedonia Diner, the restaurant was to
have introduced the bland old Yankees to 24 hours of spicy Greek treats.
Neither tasty foods nor all night service converted the wry Yankees,
although Sherry and I did spend several nights until daybreak sipping coffee
with Bill.
In the early days, after the supper crowd cleared around 8 p.m., Sherry's
husband Joe would come in. They's sit at a booth and talk of the house they
were building. "And in the Spring when the overtime on my job picks up, you
can quit here and stay home with the kids, " he'd say.
They still had dreams. Professional waitresses have no illusions. They
see how cheap and nasty people can be.
One evening, Sherry was chatting with her husband about that house, when
customers, an unexpected birthday party slammed open the door. It was
Sherry's turn, but I struggled to my feet and grabbed menus. Sherry had
just nestled her head on her husband's shoulder. Smiling, I thought it was
nice to have the dream.
A professional waitress knows that impromptu parties bring the best tips.
Planting some candles in Bill's apple crumb cake, I delivered a magnificent
ending to the party with a plastered smile. I looked at Sherry whose
husband still had that glimmer and I said to my self, Sherry, my young
friend, a professional waitress is an attendant, a bystander at the festival
of life.
When the patrons left, each handing me a handsome tip, Sherry came over to
help. A professional waitress, I thought bathes in the refraction of the
joy of celebration and cleans up the aftermath. "Keep the dream, Sherry."
I told her.
"What ?"
"Never mind."
When the hours were scaled back to 11 p.m., Bill threatened to rename the
place the Temperance Diner in disgust because he couldn't get a liquor
license.
Even if our small town of Prudence was just a little bit too far from New
York City for exciting night life, Sherry kept our little town lively.
With the scaled back hours, Joe stopped the 8 p.m. visits. He was quickly
replaced by the guys who came to sit at the counter and chat with Sherry. A
frightful tease, Sherry made more than one of the tough guys blush.
Watching from the corner table as the boss sat across from me reading a
newspaper, I snickered, "And she thinks she invented sex."
Bill peered with a look of satisfaction. "Hustle for some tips. Get up
push the apple pie I baked,"
"That's not the sweets they're looking for," I snapped.
Men are incredibly naive. After several weeks of watching Sherry hold
court at the counter, Bill commented, "Seven dollars and fifty cents, with
all those men at the counter."
"Mostly coffee, " I replied.
"Couldn't we push sandwiches, deserts and apple pie ?" The boss asked.
"They're here for something sweet as pie."
"At least there's people around," He returned to counting the register.
"The word will spread."
Sherry's court melted away promptly at 10:50 p.m., ten minutes before
quitting time. Sherry's husband came promptly at 11 p.m.
When our supper hour crowd surged, Sherry asked for an hour off at 8 p.m.
to put her kids to bed. She drove off in the wrong direction toward a motel
across the two lane highway; one of the men from the counter followed
behind.
"Dangerous game." I told her privately in the kitchen when she returned at
9 , freshly showered with her shoulder length brown hair combed, but damp.
"It's not your business." She roared, in a mellower tone, she added,
"You're jealous."
And of course she was right. I missed the attention men give and the
sparkle in their eyes. And I hated her. She still had The Dream.
When she returned to the counter, Bill looked up from the paper and asked,
"Everything O.K. ? Your husband called, while you were out." When Sherry
passed into the kitchen without responding, a look of worry knitted on
Bill's eyebrows melted into one of confusion.
Prudence was too small for this type of goings on. Bill was serving a dish
the Yankees really enjoyed. More locals came to the restaurant just to see
Sherry at work as "Belle of the Luncheon Counter."
"15th coffee and english order in an hour," I snapped at Bill.
Bill nodded. "We're slowly picking up. People are becoming familiar with
the place. Push sandwiches and pie."
The ritual continued. Sherry's admirers departed just before her husband
arrived to pick her up. Departing patrons daringly chided Sherry's husband,
"last to know."
"Belle of the Ball !" grunted Bill in disgust. The secret was too large to
hide even from a man. In private he called Sherry's husband, 'The Eunuch !'
"Balls of the Bull. Either way, the diner's picking up traffic."
I tried to talk to Sherry, "Honey, you have no idea of the life you've
condemned yourself to."
"Just having fun."
"Fun loving guys scram when you put on a few pounds and your hair turns
grey."
Evening crowds grew. Bill might have been content with coffee and english
orders, but I had to make a living. I imposed a $5 minimum. No one minded.
I arrived early for my shift and sat down at the corner booth for a quick
coffee to steady myself. I took a deep breath. I was getting too old--.
Joe, Sherry's husband came in to talk to Bill. I took my coffee to an
adjoining table. I didn't want to be caught paying word for word attention
to their man's talk. I knew what it was about. Bill told Joe
sympathetically, "It's a problem in your house for you to resolve." Joe
went away disappointed.
At closing Sherry was busy at the counter with her admirers and the
restaurant was packed with onlookers, when Joe walked in a little early to
pick up Sherry. He brought the kids. The audience was aghast. This was
the melodramatic showdown they were waiting for.
I ushered the children over to Bill's table with the promise of ice cream.
At least they were out of sight.
Bill, like most men, is incredibly dense, but even he realized he had to
defuse the showdown. I only had to hint once.
Bill took Joe aside. "Be a man, lock her out," Bill bluntly said. Joe
left with the children without a word.
The patrons filed out one by one. Many looked disappointed,
Once the restaurant was cleaned. Sherry sat down with me at the corner
table. "Imagine, that man...I told him I was leaving and he shows up
here...What do you think?"
Bill walked away from the table. This was waitress work. A professional
waitress cleans up the aftermath. Bill, the boss, was too blasted European
to intrude.
I paused. "I think you became a professional waitress tonight."
